The Discipline of the Long Way
- Jan 16
- 3 min read
There is a moment in most professional journeys where a shortcut presents itself.
It rarely looks unethical. Often, it’s framed as being “pragmatic.” Faster. Easier. More efficient. A way to get the same outcome with less friction. And in the short term, it usually works.
That’s what makes the decision difficult.
I’ve learned that the hard path isn’t hard because it’s complex. It’s hard because it demands restraint. It asks you to tolerate slower progress, fewer immediate rewards, and the quiet discomfort of watching others move ahead more quickly—at least on the surface.
Shortcuts promise relief.
The long way builds alignment.
In business, shortcuts often appear as compromises in process. Skipping steps. Overpromising capabilities. Forcing fit where there isn’t one yet. These decisions don’t usually explode immediately. Instead, they create small fractures—misaligned expectations, fragile trust, technical debt, reputational drag. Individually manageable. Collectively corrosive.
The temptation is strongest under pressure.
Targets to hit. Timelines to respect. Stakeholders waiting for results. In those moments, doing things “properly” can feel indulgent, even naïve. But over time, I’ve noticed a pattern: the energy you save by cutting corners is usually paid back with interest later.
What makes the long way so demanding is that it offers little validation. There’s no applause for diligence. No recognition for patience. No visible reward for choosing integrity when no one would have noticed otherwise. Most of the time, no one knows which path you took—except you.
That internal awareness matters more than we admit.
Every shortcut quietly reshapes your standards. Not all at once, but incrementally. What felt uncomfortable the first time becomes easier the second. And eventually, you stop seeing it as a compromise at all—just “how things are done.”
The hard path works in the opposite direction.
Each time you resist the shortcut, you reinforce a line you’re unwilling to cross. You build a form of self-trust that isn’t based on outcomes, but on consistency between values and behaviour. That kind of trust becomes a stabilising force when conditions get volatile—which they inevitably do.
I’ve also seen how shortcuts distort leadership. When leaders take them, teams feel the permission to do the same. Standards erode quietly. Accountability becomes selective. Over time, the culture shifts—not through grand failures, but through accumulated indifference.
Choosing the long way is rarely dramatic. It’s procedural. Methodical. Sometimes frustratingly slow. It involves explaining things twice instead of once. Documenting when you could improvise. Saying “not yet” when “yes” would have been easier.
But it also creates something durable.
Clients feel it. Colleagues rely on it. Systems become more resilient because they were built with care rather than urgency. And when problems arise—as they always do—you’re dealing with real issues, not the hidden consequences of past compromises.
The hard path doesn’t guarantee success. Nothing does.
What it guarantees is coherence. When things go wrong, you know where you stand. You’re not untangling decisions you no longer recognise. You’re not defending shortcuts you’re quietly ashamed of.
Over time, that coherence becomes a competitive advantage. Not because it’s flashy, but because it’s rare.
The long way teaches patience.
It teaches responsibility.
And perhaps most importantly, it teaches you who you are when no one is forcing you to choose well.
Question
Where in your work or life are you being offered a shortcut—and what might choosing the long way protect in the future?
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